For the last month, my four-year-old Golden Doodle, Shug Albert, has been struggling with a case of pancreatitis. To complicate matters, Shug has separation anxiety, so the numerous vet visits and medical procedures have been an ordeal. Progress has been slow, and we’ve experienced setbacks. On Saturday, about an hour after his vet’s office closed for the weekend, Shug took a turn for the worse. (Isn’t that the way it often goes?)
I called the 24/7 Veterinary Emergency Group (VEG), and the vet I spoke to suggested I bring him in immediately. When we arrived, the staff was waiting for us at the door. VEG embraces a different approach in veterinary medicine: they don’t separate pets from their owners. The doctor on call explained that a dog in Shug’s condition doesn’t need extra cortisol flooding his body, and that I would be allowed to stay with him the entire time. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that Shug received bloodwork, an ultrasound, and IV therapy without ever leaving my lap.
And guess what?
It was an entirely different experience. My chronically anxious dog remained calm, cooperative, and the procedures were done in one attempt and with ease. There was no need to give him sedatives. The difference was astounding. After about an hour, he fell asleep in my lap while receiving IV fluids.
As I sat there (for hours) with that precious boy in my lap, I got to thinking about the ministry of presence. In the Christian tradition, the ministry of presence refers to being physically present during a time of grief or crisis. We all know that showing up matters. Not just for a sick Golden Doodle—but for people. The apostle Paul wrote, “Carry one another’s burdens; in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”
There’s something tremendously valuable about knowing that in your worst hours you aren’t alone. Of course, showing up for someone doesn’t change their circumstances. Sitting with Shug didn’t alter his diagnosis or change the fact that he needed unwanted medical procedures. But my presence made it more bearable for him. And that’s what Christians are called to do for each other.
When it comes to the ministry of presence, I confess I have failed both at giving and receiving. There have been times when I have texted when I should have called. I have called when I should have bought a plane ticket. I have bought a plane ticket for a forty-eight-hour trip when I should’ve stayed a week. I aspire to do better. At the end of my life, what else will have mattered?
On the flip side of the equation, I have rejected help when I needed it (pride), claimed to be fine when I wasn’t (self-reliance and lack of humility). While I am one hundred percent guilty, my time on this planet has taught me I’m not the only one. Almost all of us struggle with this in some way—either in giving or receiving. After all, it’s inconvenient to show up—it’s often costly and it always disrupts your schedule. And it’s humbling to receive help.
Even worse, we do this in our relationship with God. In the middle of a hard season, how often do we reach for an idol when Jesus is extending His hand? How often do we neglect prayer and attempt to figure things out on our own? God knows that life in this world is difficult. He never intended for us to attempt it alone. There’s no reason for us to white knuckle it when we invites us to relax at the foot of His throne.
I’ll leave you with a passage from the book of Hebrews: “Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need” (Hebrews 4:16).
That, my friends, is the ministry of presence. May we be people who give graciously. May we be people who receive graciously.
